


Spooky Mormon Heaven

by Coldest_Fire



Series: And dream I do [2]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Angel!mckinley, Blowjobs, Demon!Mckinley, Dream Sex, Dream Soulmates, Highkey irreverent, Internalized Homophobia, Local author cannot write smut without feelings, Local boy turns it on and accepts himself and it feels so good, M/M, Masturbation, Mckinley was taught to turn it off, Spooky Mormon Hell Dream, This would offend 9/10 of the religion teachers I've endured in school, Wet Dream, but mostly this is sweet and gay, dream scene, how do I tag sex acts, my WIP title was Spooky Mormon Heaven, references to past religious conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 09:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15682755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldest_Fire/pseuds/Coldest_Fire
Summary: The moonlight is a waterfall of liquid silver that coats his damned body and caresses the sand of the shores, and Connor Mckinley wishes it would make him clean, but alas, that is a fantasy that eludes him even in dreams.





	Spooky Mormon Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all, I'm back on my bullshit and procrastinating more uni things with fic. I think I tagged everything I needed to, but if I let something slip please let me know and I'll tag it. More fic on Mckinley is coming, cause being me I had to write two multi chapter fics on him concurrently, plus this. I am a disaster. 
> 
> Thanks go out to my girlfriend, who helped me edit, and kicked my ass into finishing. this wasn't as smutty as promised, but I think Mckinley really just needed to be loved, and I'm a lesbian, so I'm not actually fully sure how m/m sex works... oops. 
> 
> Fic was inspired by a caption on some fan art that said something like "And he's found spooky mormon heaven" and So I Thought by Flyleaf.
> 
> Kevin's dialogue was weird in this, but I was going for a dreamlike feel, so I think it's okay.

_All your twisted thoughts free flow to everlasting memories, show soul. Kiss the stars with me, and dread thew art for stupid calls returning us to life._

The moonlight is a waterfall of liquid silver that coats his damned body and caresses the sand of the shores, and Connor Mckinley wishes it would make him clean, but alas, that is a fantasy that eludes him even in dreams. Especially in these. No matter where he finds himself, these dreams are hell, his body transformed into what he’s sure his Father in Heaven sees it as. Leathery wings erupt from his back, and horns break through the surface of his ginger hair. He is as he truly is here: sinful, corrupted... free. He really ought to hate what he’s become a little more, but after years of it being drilled into his head via electric shock, he’s not surprised. And the shores are peaceful, waves lapping in and out, making a beautiful distraction. 

It doesn't escape him that he is completely alone here. Sand and sea and not even a bird surround him. This is not supposed to be beautiful, it is exile. But it’s better than the inferno. It’s better than the way that dream makes him burn, makes him do wicked things to even more wicked people. He never wanted to put his mouth there on Hitler, least of all with a bewildered Kevin Price watching. He thinks of Kevin as his hand travels down his denuded body, which itself is almost silver in the moonlight. He thinks of Kevin as his fingers wrap around parts of him he was told constantly to ignore, envisions him as an airy sigh parts his lips. The moonlight is cold, but his body is hot to the touch, desperate, it always is. 

Footsteps crunch through the sand with just enough warning that he can let go of his shaft, and duck into a bush so only his head is visible. Who is it this time, he wonders. It doesn’t matter. No matter how morally opposed he is, he’ll find himself doing whatever they desire. He’s glad these people aren't actually touching him, even if he wakes feeling positively filthy and just the tiniest bit aroused—which makes him filthier. He expects someone horrible, which is why he’s confused when he sees Elder Kevin Price, still in his uniform, even his name tag. “McKinley?” He asks, the name just falling from his lips, as he’s just doing his best to keep the wings in shadow, but there’s Kevin Price embraced in the moonlight, an offering to him, perhaps, to see if he’s so depraved to defile the _uber mormon._

He shouldn’t even respond, but he finds the words breathlessly leaving his tongue, “Elder Price...What are you doing here?” After years of these dreams being with the dregs of history, all the people you read about and thank Heavenly Father are dead now that you’re alive to read about them. He hasn’t had a dream about someone he’d voluntarily speak to since...Since the second round of therapy, after he kissed Steve in ninth grade. Since he used to think about deserted islands, and naked swimming, and hands that didn’t burn his skin to touch. So why tonight? Why is Kevin here to see him for everything he is, underneath? 

Price sits atop a piece of driftwood, a sculpture of man, silvered by the light that Mckinley worries would burn him if he sets foot into it now, looking positively sacred. Price is sacred and he profane, a thing of the shadows. He seems to think a moment before he responds, “I’m trying to see you,” Price intones, seeming confused by his own words. It isn’t what Mckinley expects. He’s learned to expect that when he dreams of anyone palatable it’s so they can revile him. Kevin seeking him out is wrong—it doesn’t fit the script, but since when has Elder “to heck with the rules” abided anything when it didn’t suit him?

“See me?” Mckinley squeaks, withdrawing further into the shadows. He can’t be seen like this, not by Kevin. The dream will go the way he expects it to if he does, with him burning in a blaze of heavenly fire. He expects it, but he doesn’t want it tonight. Just one night, he doesn’t want to be punished for what he can’t control. For what he is. “Why?” The question comes out made of spider silk hopes that the answer isn’t made of fire. 

Price takes a long breath, a little shaky, and McKinley doesn’t know why. What would Price have to fear here? He is the angel of the moonlight. McKinley is the one soon to burn up in it. He takes a deep breath, and bites his lip, and Mckinley wants to throw himself at him and kiss that lip, even if it burns him, because when else will he have a chance to touch anything so perfect? He can’t do it, only because even in dreams, he can’t damn Kevin Price. “If I’m not seeing you, I’m seeing my life,” he admits, shakily, “I want to see you again.”

He’s realistic, McKinley will give himself that, or maybe it’s guilt, that now that Arnold keeps insisting there’s nothing wrong with turning it back on, he’s worried he’ll do something with real Kevin Price. Maybe he’s there because of the times Kevin’s eyes are full of grey and he starts to limp, before muttering something and deliberately fighting back the limp. He’s there for the times Elder Butt Effing Naked is in the mission house, and Elder Price is skipping all three meals, and proselytizing, and when he tries to just ask why, Kevin pulls him into the room and demands he never tell Elder Butt Effing Naked about his feelings for men. He just isn’t there anymore for breathless little moments where every fibre of his being needs Kevin to kiss him, needs that confirmation that he’s okay, even though he knows that’s not coming. Why should it be? 

He wonders if Elder Price is having true nightmares or Hell Dreams, remembering the time, just after the mission president condemned them. Kevin passed out of exhaustion into a bowl of cereal, breath smelling of coffee, and dark circles tattooed under his eyes. He’d tried to talk to him about not drinking so much coffee, going back to keeping regular hours, and Kevin plaintively asked him how else he was supposed to avoid sleep. And god, Mckinley knows that feeling, from before he was numb to the Hell Dreams. They talk a lot about dreams, about how to deal with them. Price slept in his bed once, and McKinley didn’t even dream. 

So he doesn’t try to lie to his dream Price. He just bites his lip and then mumbles “Not in this dream...please, Elder Price. There are so many other places to be.”

Price shakes his head, dark eyes verging on glazing over with grey, with wherever he goes when he isn’t there with the rest of them. “There’s nowhere,” he admits, as though the words tear themselves out of his chest, and Mckinley’s light blue eyes soften. He doesn’t know what the world has done to Kevin Price, but he knows something hurt him, knows that’s where he disappears to, when his eyes get grey. 

McKinley would do anything to take away the grey look, but there is nothing he can do. He doesn’t have the power to do anything good here, not with wings and horns and desire, and not back in the real world, where Kevin won’t let him in. He is powerless and he knows it. But in a dream can he pretend? “Then I guess I’ll go...” he sighs. He’ll leave Kevin his beach. This beautiful place is more befitting of him anyway. 

Price shakes his head, closing his eyes before he speaks, finally. “I don’t want to be alone.” And McKinley doesn’t know what they’ve done to him, but he knows the look Price is making. He knows the way Steve’s eyes looked when he asked—no, begged McKinley not to leave, and he doesn't want to do it again. He just doesn’t want to damn the Kevin, or himself any further, not that it makes too much of a difference with him. 

“You can’t see me like this,” he implores, needing Price to understand that right now, what he is isn’t anything he’d want to see. He is a demon, complete with horns and wings, something wicked that Kevin should fear, or hate, and not anything that he should actually want as company. They’d talk by day, if real Kevin wants to. When the horns and wings were only visible from the inside. “Please, Elder Price...” he trails off, biting his lip. 

Price gestures to the moon, a little frustrated, “then _turn it off,_ Elder McKinley,” he suggests. McKinley can’t hide the cringe, not sure if Price meant the moonlight or the desire, but equally unable to control either. His wings wrap his body reflexively, crossing over his groin. _Turn it off,_ he reminds himself, _like you always have to do. Didn’t they tell you that?_ But it isn’t turning off. Kevin Price is perfect in the silver, constant moonlight, and no matter how he beats himself down, McKinley can’t just stop feeling that. His perversion is a part of him, even if the Book of Arnold said it’s fine...

“Turn off the moon or...me?” He asks, weakly bleating out that last word. Not in his dreams. Dreams, Hell dreams, with deplorable people were that only times he got to be on, and now Price somehow thinks he has any more control over himself than the moon in the one place he’s actually allowed to let it out. And just because he can’t hurt Kevin that way—even in a dream—he will. “I can’t turn the moon off, but...” he offers the rest to him, wondering if this is a new brand of Hell, to make him bottle it up even while he sleeps. 

Price still isn’t satisfied, rising from the driftwood, and turning around. “Isn’t this all yours?” He queries, arms folding over his chest. And it is, but who can really choose what they dream? If McKinley could, he and Price wouldn’t be talking, as amoral as he knows that to be. Kevin is new to Hell, but McKinley knows the routine, knows what this is supposed to be like. There’s no changing it, even back in the days when he’d have to tell the therapy team about the dreams, even when they started to zap him for it. Being gay is bad, but lying about it is far worse, that would give it a chance to prosper, after all. 

McKinley shakes his head slowly, but that still isn’t enough to make Price leave. “Then I’ll close my eyes,” he insists, before speaking words that stop McKinley’s heart, “If this is the only place I can let it out, then we’re going nowhere,” he says stubbornly. McKinley’s eyes fill with the silver moonlight, just hoping there’s any way he means it. He doesn’t even know how obvious he’s being until Price continues. “If I have to make it dim to be here, I will.”

Mckinley needs him to say the word so he knows he means it. He needs to tear these demon wings from his spine, so he can try to be even close to enough for Kevin Price to want him, even in a dream. Is this hell, that he’s created, trapped barely peering from a bush at perfection in the moonlight, insinuating that he wants him? Hell, not being able to leave the bush and embrace him, and worship his body with his own sinful one. But the sacred doesn’t mix with the profane. He’s just another demon. “You want to be here…” he trails off, the words opening intoxicating possibilities he has to deny himself, but he can’t. He has to know, at very least. 

“Here is were we can be _on,”_ Kevin chokes out, eyes on the sand, dark and alive. McKinley just needs him to say the word. Just a little more, something to make sure he’s not misconstruing everything Kevin is saying. Maybe he just means being free of another rule, he can’t get so excited. He can’t actually believe, as Kevin Price meets his eyes, that he is about to speak the words: “Here we can be real… lying was always worse,” He insists. “But why is this only a curse for you to cure?" Kevin says slowly, looking away as he finishes the last word. 

McKinley’s lips part, dragging in a gulp of cold air to lungs that feel like they’ve ceased to function. He is breathless, hearing the music of his sinful heart pounding in his hears, trying to tear through his chest towards Kevin. He bites his lip, closing his eyes, trying to remind himself of all the reasons he can’t do this, all the things he’s supposed to be, but it’s burning him, from his chest, from his eyes. It’s all so far away, but Kevin is right there—three steps away and he could embrace him. Maybe the fire is what makes this hell, that he’s supposed to suffer the burn. He surges forward, and pulls Kevin into him, pressing their lips together to feel the relief. His wings curl around Kevin, so his hands can stroke his hair, free it from the way Kevin gels it. It breaks into little curls, in McKinley’s fingers as warmth emanates from their lips. 

It isn’t like the fire, this is a glow, it’s the slivery moonlight embracing them, shining between their lips, and he knows this is where a movie closes, but he needs this to keep going, even if he’s a demon, even if his body is an instrument of sin. He needs this moment, to feel like the wings protruding from his spine are white and feathered, like he has to be good, because he’s kissing Kevin Price. He needs to feel good, needs this fire to go out. After a long slow, desperate kiss, he trails his lips down Kevin’s neck, hearing him make little breathless gasps in his ear, holding him close with his wings so he can please him. He’ll go to hell, so long as he has one beautiful dream to remember him by. 

Kevin gasps as McKinley’s fingers desperately undo his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders, and then pulling off the top of his temple garments, to get to his chest. McKinley can taste his skin, taste sweat and soap and _Kevin,_ as his lips press to his collarbone, and then lower. He bends a little, trailing kisses down his sternum, and then tracing them lightly across Kevin’s chest. His lips are so close to one flat, pink nipple when his name pours from Kevin’s mouth, the most exquisite sin, but from Kevin, it has to be holy, the way he gasps a hushed _“Connor!”_ Connor’s lips wrap around his nipple, and suck him, as his fingers lace into the waistband of Kevin’s pants. He can feel Price, feel that he needs him. Kevin Price is hard for him, and it feels so wrong to take him but so perfect, a shot at being immaculate in the silvery moonlight, a witness to debauchery but also to redemption. No damnation comes from Kevin’s lips, the way he expected McKinley doesn’t burn up in the light. He knows he is still an evil thing, but he feels real. His dreams have never felt so real. 

Kevin is gasping, arching as Mckinley’s lips positively blaze down his chest, his hair a spark in the silvery moonlight. Kevin’s eyes are so wide, but so dark, pupils dilated, perfectly coiffed hair breaking free into loose strands, brushing it out of his eyes so he could watch McKinley. Time slows as his tongue darts out, tasting the moonlight’s silver glow on Kevin’s skin, sucking the little spot just above his pants, eyes on Price. He wants to watch how Kevin savours every moment of it. His hands slide up Kevin’s thighs, kissing his bulge, and Kevin’s hands dart to his horns, holding him there. Electricity travels down McKinley’s spine as his desperate, shaking hands disrobe him, both naked in the moonlight, one shadowed by his leathery wings, and one a silvery moonlit angel. Mckinley doesn’t even care if he’s going to Hell, in this dream he will have his heaven. 

Kevin bites back a moan as McKinley’s shaking hands grip his length, and he presses his lips to the hot, slick head. He releases that moan when Mckinley licks it, running the tip of his warm pink tongue over the surface, lasting alt, and moonlight, and heaven, his depraved, sinner’s heaven, with the tip of Kevin Price’s dick in his mouth. But he can do more, and he proves it, sucking the head into his mouth, giving it a suck, so hard his cheeks hollow as his tongue explores every tiny bit of it. “McKinley!” Price gasps, his hips involuntarily thrusting forward, forcing him deeper past McKinley’s eager lips. He’ll drown in moonlight if it means this taste. He feels the blood travelling, pooling in his own, as Kevin gripped the horns t thrust himself deeper.

McKinley slides deeper, taking all he can into his mouth, and then pulling back to just suck the head, eyes on Kevin’s as Kevin’s hands stay tightly fisted around his horns. The first time, Kevin’s eyes close, and he tips his head back, and the moon is shining through him, haloing him. Kevin is a real flesh and blood saint, and Mckinley is depraved, but does not hesitate, taking Kevin all the way, feeling it hit the back of his throat, because he never gags in these dreams. He exists for this need, to take Kevin, pulling back to only suck the head each time he needs a breath. Kevin’s hands do not release his horns, not as he begins to chant his name, the most wicked prayer to leave St Kevin price’s lips, haloed in sacred moonlight. McKinley’s name is his prayer, but it’s McKinley kneeling to take him in. 

_And then Kevin takes control._ He grips Mckinley’s horns tighter, and pulls him in, all the way, makes him feel it hitting the back of his throat, and sucking it, before Kevin lets him slide back enough to get a breath, and then back, desperately thrusting into his mouth, using the horns as reins. He keeps this up, following it with more erratic thrusts, his own breathing uneven as McKinley complies, and sucking him harder, or runs his tongue over the tip, growing increasingly slick with saliva and precum. And here is heaven, he’s sure, sucking Price, feeling his desperation in the way he jerks his head forward, hearing him chant his name fervently. And the dam breaks, Kevin jerking him so far in that his nose presses into his abdomen, hands on his thighs, holding himself there as much as Kevin is. Kevin spills into his throat, and it’s hot and salty, delicious.

His wings fan out behind him, prickling with the silver of the moonlight, feeling strange, as though they’re lighter, as though he can actually fly. By the horns, Kevin pulls his face up to meet his own, lips melding into a kiss, the forces of Light and Darkness aligning in a cosmic battle just this once, so Mckinley can have everything he’s ever wanted. He feeling the moonlight permeating his skin, silvering his body as he hitches one leg around Kevin’s waist. He never needs to prepare inn these dreams. There can be no pain in these moments, as he feels Kevin’s hands diverting from his horns to his waist, positioning himself to slide into Mckinley. 

He barely breathes a “Kevin, _please,”_ as he lines him up. His wings flare, and fully in the moonlight, and he feels in prickling along the leathery skin as he holds himself up and spreads, letting himself drop just enough to push Kevin’s tip into his aching hole He burns for Kevin the way the light should burn a creature as wicked as he, but this need is sated as he feels Kevin stretching him. The angel’s dark eyes shine with moonlight, but also desire, and that’s what he’s missing. Desire doesn’t look like damnation in Kevin’s eyes. It is silvery as the moonlight, and tastes like breathless names across the boy’s lips. Every other time, every other dream, he’s been able to smell brimstone, and see the fires of hell. Perhaps he’s truly damned because this time he feel right. 

Perhaps, perhaps, this is the first time it’s right. 

And Kevin rocks his hips, as the moonlight continues to prickle like fingertips caressing McKinley’s wings, Kevin’s length pressing into McKinley, filling the void in him, as his hands hold McKinley’s hips so he doesn’t float away. Kevin is grounding him, is keeping him in these moments, and not inside his head. He moans softly as one hand starts to stroke him, while the other just guides his hips in their slow, perfect rhythm, guiding him up and down, deeper each time. It’s like falling in love, deeper each time, filling his being more each time. This cannot be damned, he thinks, not to feel this right, between him and Kevin Price. 

He’d go as far as to a call it sacred, as he clenches around Kevin’s shaft, and sinks so deep their hips meet, as Kevin gasps his name, and shouts out an appeal to a god McKinley never nothing could bless such an act. White feathers erupt along the scaly skin of McKinley’s demon wings, his horns twisting into a perfect halo as he bounces up and down on Kevin’s length, both boys moaning, crying each other’s names into the silence of the island. Tears bead in Mckinley’s eyes as Kevin kisses his throat, and he feels as though the silvery radiant light is penetrating him as much as Kevin is, their bodies melding, all immaculate in the light. He gasps for Kevin as his hips rock, rubbing the perfect spot within him, shooting white hot ecstasy through his body.

McKinley grips him hard, holding to him like a promise of salvation, kissing him to taste ecstasy off his lips, and he flares his wings as he clenches around Kevin one last time before he is filled, before something in him releases everything he’s ever had to hold in, and his vision stains white as the moonlight, and he screams, nearly sobs Kevin’s name. As they come down, bodies thrumming with the aftershocks of completion, Kevin’s shaking fingers stroke one of McKinley’s white feathered wings. He draws one loose feather forward, and kisses him softly, holding it between their hands. “I see you,” he speaks, between kisses, looking him in the eyes intently, “I seek you Connor Mckinley,” he insists, “but now you need to.”

Mckinley could have _sobbed_ to wake up in the mission house, pants sticky, face flushed, and alone in his bed. He could have cried to find himself back in the world where he was just another sinner trying to be anything beyond the perversion born into his being, rather than the dream where his love was something sacred. He rolls over, taking a long breath, and hoping he’s up early enough to get clean before Poptarts wakes. 

Price is in his room, at the edge of the bed. McKinley almost falls over to see him, as Price bends to be on his level, eyes alit as they were in the dream, with the silver of the kindest moonlight, with redemption. “Can we talk about a dream I had?” he asks, and as McKinley’s voice goes flat, and his mouth dries up, Kevin says it, “Can I ask if you see yourself yet?” And he wonders, if only for one moment lost to time and existence, if there are white wings projecting form his spine. 

_And I’m praying that we will see something there, in between then and there that exceeds all we can dream._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I might do a second part of them talking about the dream, if you want. Please feel free to review if you do. I totally have most of my reviews printed out on my walls, because I love getting them that much.


End file.
